The Man with the Red and White Shoes
by Scarlett De Fontaine
Summary: When one of Watson's clients dies mysteriously, Holmes is put on the scent of a deeper plot. Who is the strangely dressed man, and what does his appearance at the scene have to do with the lovely Miss Diana Caradeen? thanks to EoT, some are bits incorrect
1. Ch 1 Watson's Patient

Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock Holmes Canon or anything contained in it. I also do not own Doctor Who or any related subject. I only own the plot and some of the character, whom you are about to read about.

**Thank to my Beta Readers who helped me make my story presentable and are currently reading the next few chapters: storyranger and Foxcat93**

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In the fogs of late nineteenth century Baker Street, people bustled about with their own interests and lives in mind. A pair of old business partners rode down the street in a horse-drawn cab. A happy young couple strode down the walkway as they talked about future plans for their wedding. A middle-aged bachelor gentleman walked passed his fellow passersby with a quick greeting and a tip of his hat.

It was this seemingly perfect afternoon in autumn that Dr. John H. Watson made his way back to his room at 221b Baker Street with a heavy heart and tired eyes. His practice was taking a lot out of him and he was perfectly happy to find his way back to the sitting room, where Holmes was most likely to be taking in some client that had some mystery that could take Watson's mind off of the drawbacks of his career. He wasn't surprised when he came to the door and heard Holmes playing his violin from the front stoop.

Mrs. Hudson, the ever-faithful housekeeper and landlady, answered the door with a smile.

"Ah, Dr. Watson. Back already?" She said with a hint of hesitation.

"Yes," Watson said forlornly as he stepped across the threshold, "One of my appointments was cancelled at the last moment."

"I understand, sir." Mrs. Hudson said as she closed the door behind him. "Lunch will be served in half an hour, if you'd like."

"That sounds lovely, Mrs. Hudson." Watson said, making his way to the sitting room.

Holmes' playing paused for a second as he came into the room, then started to play a new tune.

The sitting room was in messy order, contrary to the neat disorder as per usual. Things seemed to be exactly where he had left them that morning, with exception for Holmes' violin and its case. The tobacco-filled Persian slipper remained hanging on the mantle. The various past case files were sorted by date in various parts of the room. Holmes' laboratory set of chemicals and instruments, which could be seen in Holmes' room, was in neat order.

Watson let himself sink into the settee by the fire, letting his tensions flow away. Holmes noticed his friend's discomfort and started to play one of Watson's favorite tunes. Watson's stress visibly faded as the music filled the room. Neither spoke until the music was finished.

"Thank you, old friend," Watson said. "I really have had a trying day, and the day isn't even over yet."

"Do tell." Holmes said as he placed his violin and its bow on the nearest table.

"Have I told you of an old client of mine, Mr. James Caradeen?" Watson said in a solemn tone.

"No, I don't think you have." Holmes settled himself in the basket chair as to give his attention to Watson's story.

"Well, Mr. Caradeen has been my client since I first started my practice. He has been well known, among friends and co-workers, for his charitable nature, for being a perfect gentleman, and for having very few enemies. He was in very good health, I never really had to do much but to come around about once every two or three months to check up on his and his daughter's health."

"He 'was'?"

"Yes. I'm sure you heard something back there about one of my appointments being cancelled. Mr. Caradeen died, not four days ago. I heard about it just today. He and I had an appointment scheduled for today.

"I'm so sorry, Watson. How did he die?"

"That's the thing. According to the coroner, he died of some sort of nervous attack, but neither he nor any of his known relatives, and the list is quite extensive, has had a history of nervous disorders, let alone nervous attacks. Mr. Caradeen had a strong heart, smoked only once a week, and drank only a little around the holidays. He was in the best of health."

"Hmmm," Holmes stood up with that dreamy look of thought in his eyes. "Very curious." For a few moments he paced about the room, smoking on his pipe, then he broke the silence again. "What was his profession?"

"I believe he was a stockbroker. He owned his own firm," Watson said as Mrs. Hudson came in and put lunch on the table.

"Hmmm." Holmes continued to pace for a moment as Watson sat down to eat. "Not married, I presume?"

"No," Watson said between bites.

"And where has the daughter's mother gone?"

"No idea. Mr. Caradeen took her in from the streets when she was 8 years old."

"How old is she now?"

"21, I think. Poor thing. She was very attached to him."

"Hmmm." Holmes settled back into the basket chair to contemplate the matter. "I trust he left a will?"

"I believe so. I would have no doubt if he left most of his estate to his daughter. She was as much to him as he was to her. From what he told me when he first became my client, he hadn't even thought of hiring a personal physician until he took Diana in."

"Diana?"

"The daughter. A very fine young woman, Diana. Very witty, exceptionally beautiful, and what a wonderful singing voice! She's a very artistic soul. Every time we had an appointment, she was humming some popular piece that she and Mr. Caradeen had heard a few nights before."

"Very singular young woman indeed." Holmes made his way to the window and gazed out at the passersby. "No doubt she's had her fair share of suitors in the past few years."

"No doubt, but it seems she has one in particular that has caught her attention. The past few appointments she was blathering on about her childhood friend, Basil. According to her, he's a very handsome young man, a proper gentleman, and a follower of the arts, like her."

"That's odd." Holmes said as he gazed out the window.

"Why's that?" Watson said as he finished his last bite.

"Because he seems to be at our door at this moment." Holmes quickly looked in Watson's direction with a smirk and sat himself in the basket chair as they heard Mrs. Hudson answer the door.

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You know the Parents' Curse "You will have children just like you", but you don't know the Fanfic Author's Curse "Don't Review... You'll be sorry... Let's just put it at that.  
Unlike the Parents' Curse, this one's avoidable, just press that review button and no one will get hurt. :)

Oh and just so you know, I won't put the second chapter up until I get at least one review.


	2. Ch 2 Basil

Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock Holmes canon or the Doctor Who series.

Thanks to Socks for reviewing. And Thanks to my Beta Readers.

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Watson anxiously sat on the settee as he watched young Basil walk into the sitting room with a grim, and concerned, look on his face. Basil was just as Diana described him. He was about medium height and well built, but not to an extreme, with a strong jaw, a strong back, and a certain air about the face that was shared among those of musical inclination. He had dull brown hair, deep green eyes, and wore a gentleman's suit. Holmes, who had unmistakably identified him, had picked up on all this, and most assuredly more.

"Doctor Watson." Basil said as he looked directly at Watson, paying no attention to Holmes. "There's something odd going on with Diana. I'm very concerned."

"What is going on, exactly?" Holmes asked just as Watson was about to ask Basil the same thing.

Basil gave Holmes a look of confusion and hesitation.

"It's alright, Basil." Watson said, "Holmes is a very trustworthy man. Whatever you can say to me, you can say around him."

"You mean to say that this," Basil exclaimed, his jaw almost hitting the floor, "is the Sherlock Holmes that Diana has been reading about in the Strand?"

"The one and only," Holmes said with pride.

"Alright," Basil said after a moment of reverie, "Maybe you can help explain her behavior as well." Basil sat down next to Watson on the settee. "I'm sure, Watson, that you've heard news of Mr. Caradeen's passing. Of course, as can be expected, this affected Diana very much. Even more so because she was there the night he died. She discovered his body outside her own bedroom door, and she fainted shortly afterwards. Luckily, Mrs. Walsh was there to revive her and to raise the alarm."

"You were not there yourself, I trust?" Holmes asked.

"No, sir," Basil replied, "I heard nothing of it until Wednesday, the morning after the incident."

"Incident?" Watson asked.

"Interesting choice of words, Mr...?" Holmes asked.

"Basil White," Basil said, taking a bracing breath and turning back to Watson, "Diana believes that Mr. Caradeen was murdered. She thinks she saw a man on the other end of the hall shortly after she found her father."

"She thinks?" Holmes interjected, "Surely you believe her?"

"Mr. Holmes!" Basil said, somewhat offended.

"That hallway leads to a dead end," Watson interrupted, trying to keep Basil's young temper down, "as any frequent visitor of the house would know." He turned back to Basil. "I'm guessing the police pursued the matter?"

"Yes, indeed, they did. They found nothing, not a single footprint on the grounds where the man may have entered the house. Not even the dogs could find a scent which they could follow."

"What time did this 'incident' occur?" Holmes asked, intrigue evident in his eyes.

"Around eleven o' clock, from what I've been told."

"Well, no wonder the police or the dogs could find his trail," Holmes said. "It was raining very heavily in Hampshire just shortly after eleven."

"How did you know that the Caradeen house was in Hampshire?" Basil asked with absolute astonishment.

"Oh," Holmes said with a smile, "just that when Watson left earlier for his appointment at the Caradeen house, he mentioned something about that 'the Hampshire air' would do him good."

"Well, anyway," Basil continued, "all the doors and windows were locked from the inside. Well, I should say almost all, but the one window that was open faced a tall cliff that no human being could have scaled hurriedly."

"And I trust that the house was thoroughly searched?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Hmmm." Holmes lit his pipe. "Now on to your problem about Diana. What seems to be the matter with her?"

"Well, it's hard to say," Basil began, "She's usually a very lively soul, even when faced with the death of a loved one. She would usually be all right by the evening of the next day. She was always dancing around the house, if you remember, Watson. But now, she's locked herself in her room, coming out only for meals, and even then she seemed isolated and in her own dismal world. She's usually the talkative sort of girl, if you remember, but now she's as silent as a ghost, until she's in her room, that is. She seems to be talking to herself when she has the door locked. I'm sure you know, Watson, that I love Diana dearly. I was going to propose to her yesterday, if it had not been for this dreadful business."

"I'm sure she will say 'yes', Basil." Watson said with a sympathetic smile. "She talked about you all the time."

"I don't doubt it." Glancing at his pocket watch, Basil stood up with urgency, "Oh, I'm about to be late for the reading of the will. I'll keep in touch, Watson."

"I'll be sure to come and check on her myself, sometime soon," Watson said.

Basil made a face that clearly said he wanted to say more, but with a slight bow and a tip of his hat he left the sitting room and hurried to call a cab. Holmes stared after him with the same level of intrigue as when he first walked in.

"Watson," Holmes said after a few moments, "I think, tonight, we will have dinner at Marcini's, and tomorrow we will make our way to the Caradeen house to ask Miss Diana some questions about the night of Mr. Caradeen's death."

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It is only from the reviews that I know that my story is worth the time and effort. If I get no reviews, then I might be led to believe that no one is interested in my story and I might be tempted to leave the story unfinished and delete it.

Review and I might feature one of your characters in one of my other stories.


	3. Ch 3 A Wake

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My thanks to my lovely Beta Readers and to those who have reviewed.

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the Sherlock Holmes canon or the longest running scifi show ever: Doctor Who (Though I really wish I did)**

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The next morning could be best described as cool and blustery. Watson, of course, couldn't care less. He was happily asleep in his bed when Holmes came bursting in, fully dressed and somewhat frustrated at Watson's laziness.

"Watson," Holmes called out. "How can you still be asleep?" Holmes quickly drew open the curtains to let in the early-morning light. "It's a beautiful day and Mrs. Hudson has made a delightful breakfast for us both." He left the room as quickly as he had come in, leaving Watson feeling much like a leaf caught in a hurricane. Then Holmes poked his head back in, "Oh, I forgot to mention. We have to catch a train to Hampshire in forty-five minutes."

Watson groaned as he took in only parts of Holmes' quick speech. 'Watson', 'asleep', 'day', 'breakfast?' _Breakfast sounds good_. Watson thought, starting to feel more awake. 'We have to catch a train to Hampshire...' _Oh, that sounds like a nice idea_. '... in forty-five minutes.' _FORTY-FIVE MINUTES?_ Watson threw the covers off and quickly started to make look presentable.

Watson yawned as he glanced around the train compartment. The events leading up to their actually getting on the train were rather hectic. Holmes practically abducted a cab driver and told him that he'd give the man two pounds if he'd get them to Charing Cross Station in twenty minutes. Of course, they got there in just the time that Holmes requested, but they still had less than ten minutes to get hold of a pair of tickets and run to their compartment. Needless to say, they managed to get on the train and to their correct compartment, but only just.

Holmes was gazing out the side window as the train rolled past beautiful countryside. He didn't have the blissful feeling of paradise, as most travelers would. No, Holmes still maintained his dismal view of the countryside, a wary vigilance for a dangerous enemy. The lovely cottages, that Watson found to be charming, held a feeling of dangerous solitude for Holmes. To him, these were places where a crime could go unnoticed all too easily.

Just as Watson was about to ask Holmes why they took the earlier train rather than one later in the day, the train slowed to a halt at Southampton Station, where Watson had heard of the cancellation of Mr. Caradeen's appointment the day before.

"If you could be good enough to call for a cab, Watson, I'll take care of our luggage," Holmes said, with a comical smile as he gestured towards the one carpetbag that he himself packed.

Watson did so, and they were off to the Caradeen estate, near Lymington. Through the whole of the ride, Holmes remained silent as he moved the pieces of the puzzle around in his mind so that he could get a better look at the matter. The spinning gears in his head were almost visible to Watson, but the puzzle was nowhere as near to completion with him as it was with Holmes.

Watson turned his mind to the familiar countryside that he had passed many times before. He spotted the same odd-looking tree that had caught his interest the first time he came to the house. The small glen to the right of the road was still as pleasant and full of wildflowers as he remembered from autumns past.

Then they came to the house itself. It was a charming mansion, but it was much busier than he remembered. The road that led to the front of the house was filled with mourners in black who were making their way back to their homes from Mr. Caradeen's wake. The brother of the deceased, Lionel, stood firmly at the door as he watched the many friends of his brother leave the household. Watson caught the eye of Mrs. Walsh, the faithful servant of Mr. James Caradeen, walking with Basil White. The one thing he noticed above all else was that Diana was nowhere to be seen. Watson practically flung himself out of the carriage to catch up with Basil.

"Where's Diana?" Watson asked. "Surely she came out for her own father's wake?"

"No, sir," Mrs. Walsh answered in her grief-stricken voice, "she's still acting quite queer."

Mrs. Walsh was a nice old lady. Her black hair was always up in a bun with a few stray hairs hanging by her ears. She had an angular, stubborn chin. Her nose reminded Watson of the beak of a small sparrow. The only true clue to her old age was her eyes. They were a deep brown with a grey-blue tinge that was characteristic of cataracts. She wore a simple black dress and a hat with a black veil. She was very much attached to Mr. Caradeen. She had been his nurse, governess, and servant for forty years, and when he took Diana in as his own, she became her keeper and confidant.

Holmes noticed Basil snarl in Lionel's direction.

"Did the brother get more than he earned from the will?" Holmes asked him.

"Oh, you saw that?" Basil said, embarrassed that his aggression was so noticeale to the public. "Yes, he practically inherited the whole estate from an old will. I protested that James loved his daughter more than to leave her without a home, again, but there was only one will drawn up, and it named Lionel as the main beneficiary leaving Diana with nothing but a letter and an old watch!" Basil's agitation became more and more evident with each word that passed his lips. By the end he was almost hissing them out, with an expression that could intimidate a cobra to submission, but within a moment, he regained his composure and continued, "Lionel has thrown poor Diana and Mrs. Walsh out of the house. They are staying with me now. I would have sent a telegram earlier, but I was busy with the transition."

"May we accompany you to your house, then, Mr. White?" Holmes asked. "I wish to speak with Miss Diana Caradeen about the matter of Mr. Caradeen's death."

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A/N: Remember, the quicker I get reviews, the quicker I can send out the next part.

So press that review button, tell me what you think, and I will publish the next chapter.

Also, if anyone of you can figure out who did it and what they want before the last few chapters, I will write a story centered around a character that you create.


	4. Ch 4 Mrs Walsh

Thank you to all of my readers that have reviewed and to my Beta Readers.

Sorry for the wait. Summer English final, need I way more?

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the greatest detective: Sherlock Holmes; or the coolest time traveler around: the Doctor; or any of the characters from their canons.**

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As they rode the carriage to Basil White's estate, Holmes took the opportunity to question Mrs. Walsh about recent happenings in the Caradeen estate.

"Do tell me, Mrs. Walsh," Holmes asked, "had Mr. Caradeen been acting peculiar in the days before his death?"

"Not that I remember, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Walsh replied.

"Are you quite sure?" Holmes insisted. "Did he make any sudden appointments? Did a stranger call upon the house at some point?"

"No," Basil interrupted.

"Actually, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Walsh continued anyway, "in fact, there were a few incidents that I found to be curious, if you think it would be of help."

"Even the smallest detail could mean the difference between catching our man and letting him get away with this dark deed," Holmes said.

"Well, if you think the situation is so dire," Mrs. Walsh said, "Mr. Caradeen did seem to have lost some sleep in the night. One night, I had woken up around midnight, from the autumn chill, and I thought I heard Mr. Caradeen roaming the halls. I took no notice at the time because he often went to the kitchen or the library when he couldn't sleep. Then, the morning before this terrible tragedy, he made an appointment with his lawyer; to change his will, I imagine. His old one was written before his firm made solid footing, and it didn't appeal to his growing interests."

"And the will that was read yesterday was this same will?" Holmes asked.

"Yes," Basil answered.

"Hmm," Holmes mused, "during the late-night walk, did you speak with Mr. Caradeen?"

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Walsh said, "I asked him if I could be of any help and he said no and that I could go back to bed."

"Did he seem upset, or nervous?" Holmes asked.

"Not that I could see. He seemed fine to me, though he did seem to mumble to himself as he made his way to his room, though. And he was turning that old pocket watch in his hands. He might have been a little bit nervous then, but not to the point that would drive him to a nervous attack."

"Yes, of course. When you found the body, had Miss Caradeen already fainted?"

"No, sir, she fainted just as they came into my view."

"What alerted you to the situation?"

"Miss Diana had screamed. It must have been when she saw her father's body." Mrs. Walsh took her handkerchief to her eyes. "Oh, the poor child. She must have been terrified."

"Mr. White told me that she thought she saw someone else in the house. Do you believe her?"

"Of course I do!" Mrs. Walsh replied indignantly, "I have no reason not to!"

Just then, the carriage came to a stop at the two-floor White estate.

"Thank you, Mrs. Walsh. If you would be so good as to see if Miss Caradeen is willing to grant us an interview." Holmes turned to Watson as Mrs. Walsh was on her way, "I think, Watson, if we find Miss Caradeen unobliging, we will investigate the Caradeen estate."

"That can be arranged." Basil said, "From what I hear, Mr. Lionel Caradeen is staying in a hotel in Southampton while he waits for his furniture to arrive from America. You should have the house to yourselves."

"Excellent," Holmes said as Mrs. Walsh hurried back.

"She still wishes to see no one," she reported.

"I thought as much, thank you." Holmes turned to Watson again, "You must be starving, Watson. If I'm not mistaken, there's an inn in Lymington where we can make arrangements for accommodation and you can have some lunch. After we'll find the lead investigator in the matter and head back to the Caradeen estate where we'll see what we can make of this mysterious tragedy."

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My offer still stands, if someone can somehow figure out what all is going on before we get to the 9th chapter, I will create a plot centered on a character you create for me. Whether it be a good guy, bad guy, or extra; you provide the character, I'll provide the story.

But of course, in order to even have a chance to win such a fabulous oppertunity, is to hit that review button at the bottom of the page.

Tell me what you think of my writing, tell me your theories so far, or even tell me that such a pairing is outrageous, if you will. If you don't like what I'm doing, I'd be glad to hear about it! Good news, bad news, I don't care, just please tell me what you think!


	5. Ch 5 Investigation

Again thanks to the gaining support of my readers and to my Beta Readers.

Sorry for the extra long wait, I have summer reading assignments that take up most of my time.

I think we've all established that I do not own the Sherlock Holmes canon, or the Doctor Who canon, by now and are starting to get sick and tired of reading/writing such disclaimer.

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Some time after lunch, Holmes and Watson made their way to the Caradeen estate in a carriage with Inspector Walker, a plump man who hadn't gotten much experience in the field and was another avid reader of Strand magazine.

"So, I'm guessin' tha' you 'spect somethin' of this Lionel fella." Inspector Walker stated, "I'd say he 'ad plenty of mo'ive. I've in'erviewed Mr. Milancamp, the lawyer, an' he said tha' he 'ad an appoin'ment with Mr. James ta 'ave his will changed to include Miss Diana more. I 'spect that Mr. Lionel heard somethin' 'bout it an' sent someone ta try ta change his mind. Well, one thing leads to another an' this man is driven to desperation an' he somehow gives 'im some sort o' poison tha' can't be traced or nothin'. Miss Diana hears the commotion an' comes ta investigate. The man, now a killer, runs the only way he can, ta the open window. Miss Diana screams when she sees Mr. James, dead on the floor, and faints when she sees the killer runnin' off. It's infallible."

"Bravo," Holmes said sarcastically, "I should not have even made my way down here since you have such an _infallible_ theory."

"Alrigh' then," Walker started to turn red in frustration, "wha's your theory? I'd like ta see you come up wit' somethin' be'er. Come on, out wit' it, wha' do you think happened?"

"I cannot theorize without all of the facts," Holmes said, "and may I point out, neither can you."

"Wha's tha' suppose' ta mean?" Walker almost exploded.

Watson thanked all the heavenly powers that they had reached the house by then.

"Here we are," Watson said as he got out, trying to distract them both from their argument. "Let's see what we can make of things, eh, Holmes?"

"Agreed." Holmes said, shifting his gaze toward the empty house.

All three made their way through the front door, through the sitting room, and into the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"I kept things just as they were." Walker said roughly.

"How many of your people went through this area?" Holmes exclaimed as he examined this carpeted floor.

"Just me an' the medical exam'ner, an' I reckon the old maid when she went ta collect a suit for the body, for the wake." Walker replied with a questioning air.

"Then, why, pray tell, do I see evidence of six sets of footmarks?" Holmes said, "We seem to have an unexplained set. You see? There's the shoe marks of Mrs. Walsh and there's yours, Inspector. These must be those of the medical examiner, as they follow yours in and out quickly. There's those of Mr. James Caradeen, as they stop right here. Then there, down the hall and around the bend, are the sets of our suspects." Holmes quickly made his way down the hall as he followed those sets, trying not to disturb them. "One was the killer, the other with the odd checkered soles..."

"Trying to prevent the crime, perhaps?" Watson suggested.

"Yes, but he was too late." Holmes came back to where he could see Watson standing beside Diana's bedroom door, where the body had been found. He examined the floor more closely, practically putting his face to the floor, then stood up to match the position of the footmarks. "Instead of staying to try to help, he followed the killer to the only unlocked window." He followed the footmarks to a window that was adjacent to Mr. Caradeen's bedroom door. Holmes opened the window, and with great care, stepped onto what was left of a small ledge that stood between the window and a fall to near certain doom on the rocks below. "Watson, I need your assistance." Watson came running to Holmes, who was clinging to the windowsill. "I need you get a rope so I can take a closer look at this ledge."

"Couldn't you get a close view of the ledge from inside the safety of the window?" Watson complained.

"Oh, Watson, not the ledge that I'm standing on, the ledge below it." Holmes smiled, stepping back into the house as Walker silently volunteered to find a rope.

"How do you know that a ledge is down there if you can't see it from inside?" Watson asked.

"It's all very simple, Watson." Holmes grinned, "This window was the point of exit for both of the unknown owners of these sets of footmarks, and unless they both had wings and flew out, then there must be a ledge that they could have climbed from to get to and from the window. Also, if you inspect the edge of the ledge that I was standing on earlier, you will see that a large chunk of earth is missing from it, most likely from some sort of grappling hook that was launched, anchored, climbed over twice, and then pulled from its anchor by the effort of bearing more weight than the ledge was meant to stand. With that in mind, I concluded that there must be a ledge down there that can support at least two full-grown men and large enough to give enough room to both launch the grappling hook and give room for the men to land safely upon it."

"Now how do you know that the men would land on it safely?" Watson protested.

"Because if either of the men had fallen to the rocks below his fall would have been heard, and there would be no doubt in Basil's mind about Miss Caradeen's story." Holmes said as Walker returned with a good length of sturdy rope.

Holmes tied the rope around his waist and stepped out on the ledge again. Watson and Walker held the rope tight in their hands as they slowly lowered him down. A few moments later, Holmes touched his feet on the lower ledge and Watson followed after him.

"Ah, the plot thickens," Holmes said as he inspected the hard ground. "There were two that came, one that climbed up to the window, and three that left, the rope and grappling hook left behind." Holmes followed the ledge as it curved up and around, then came back. "Just as I thought, it leads up to the road. There is another point of interest as well; There is a square patch in the grass where something with a good amount of weight to it once stood. I think that Inspector Walker has waited long enough, let's find out how our mysterious odd-sole got into the house."

After a few moments, Holmes and Watson were back in the hallway and Walker, having done what he could, made his way back to the carriage.

"Let's trace this fellow's footmarks and see where they came from, shall we?" Holmes said as he made his way to the sitting room. Watson followed Holmes from the sitting room, through the library, and into the sunroom where he stopped at the door that led outside. "This is where he got in. He locked the door behind him." Holmes eyed a large, broad-leafed, potted plant. "He hid there as Mr. Caradeen walked past him, into the library." He walked towards the door to Mr. Caradeen's room, then to the floor. "Something pulled him to follow Mr. Caradeen." He walked slowly back to the hallway. "He saw the killer's deed, but was too late to stop it. He began to give chase. Miss Caradeen, having either heard the deadly conflict or happening to be awake at the time, opened the door to discover the body. She screamed for help." He walked to where the hallway turned. "He looked back, wanting to do something, but instead continued his chase. The rest we know, except where the three went after they came to the road," Holmes looked back to where Watson stood, "and what the odd-sole was going to do before he became entangled in this business."

Just then, they heard a horse come galloping toward the house. They both ran to see what the matter was. It was young Basil, and his face had an expression of the greatest distress.

"Holmes, Watson, come quick." Basil said as he ran up to them on the porch.

"What's the matter, Basil, what's wrong?" Watson asked.

"It's Mrs. Walsh," Basil said, "she's dead."

* * *

Are you shocked?

Make sure to make the appropriate changes to your theories, if you have any, and don't forget to tell me what you think is going on behind the scenes. Whoever gets the closest to actual events will have their character star in one or my next stories.

Oh, and if you have the chance and are interested in movie music, check out the theme from Schindler's List, it has a beautiful violin solo. I would suggest either purchasing the soundtrack or listening to it on Imeem. google-ing it is the best way to get to it.


	6. Ch 6 Second Victim

Thank you to may patient readers and Beta Readers.

This story has been read from people all over the world (except in Africa and Antarctica), but I seem to only be getting continuous reviews from a few. I thank you for your feedback.

Now let's get to the story!

* * *

Holmes and Watson walked into the room where Mrs. Walsh's body was found. The poor woman died of the same nervous shock that claimed Mr. Caradeen. Miss Diana Caradeen stood weeping in the hallway. Again she was the first to discover the body, and again she claimed to have seen the man in the hallway. Basil stood next to Diana, comforting her.

Holmes slowly made his way to where the old woman met her end, glancing at the floor from time to time. She had a look of mortal fear frozen on her face and it seemed as if her knees had given way beneath her and she had leaned against the end of the couch in the moments before her death. Holmes inspected the body with great care and found no wounds, bruises, or signs of struggle. Then, Holmes noticed that clutched in her hand was the same pocket watch that Mr. Caradeen had walked the halls of the Caradeen estate with before his death. Holmes carefully took it from her hands and examined it under the lamplight.

Suddenly, Diana ran down the hall in a flurry of new tears, Basil following right behind.

Holmes glanced in their direction, then opened the pocket watch. Watson watched as Holmes inspected the clock face. He muttered to himself for a few moments, then closed it quickly and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Holmes!" Watson gasped, "What are you doing? A woman just died. It isn't proper to take things off of a dead person and just stuff them into your own pocket!"

"It's a piece of evidence," Holmes said, "and since this pocket watch seems to be a common link in the chain of events, I think it would be safer in my pocket than in tthe possession of young Miss Diana Caradeen." With that Holmes stalked out of the room after Miss Diana. Watson, unsure about Holmes' new attitude, followed swiftly after him.

"What do you know about this pocket watch that Mr. Caradeen left to you in the will?" Holmes asked.

"He told me once that he found it on the streets of Cardiff," Diana said. "Why? What's so special about that old broken antique?"

"Did you get a good look at this man you saw? What did he look like?" Holmes asked, rather roughly.

"He was," Diana tried to say through her flowing tears, "he was tall, and thin. I can't..."

"You must." Holmes said, "This man plays a vital role in this investigation. I need you to cooperate with me so that I can find this man. So, please, Diana, describe him to me."

"I told you, I can't!" Diana yelled. "But as soon as you can get that corpse out of this house, I can show you what he looks like."

"What?" Basil and Watson said simultaneously.

"I created a portrait of him." Diana said, "As soon as I can get into my room without having to pass a dead body, I will show it to you."

"That's why you locked yourself in your room." Holmes said, "You were painting him from memory."

"Yes," Diana said, "That's why I came out in the first place, to tell Basil and Mrs. Walsh that I had finished the portrait and was ready to show it to you. That's when I saw Mrs. Walsh dead in her room and the same man whom I had just finished painting, running down the stairs." Diana broke down into a new wave of tears.

"She's had enough of your rough handling," Basil said with an edge. "If you would kindly leave my house until I call for you."

Holmes then left with a huff, with Watson following hesitantly behind. They took a hansom back to the inn, where Watson took his dinner and Holmes sat in a far corner in his room, staring at the old pocket watch as it glinted in the lamplight.

It was almost evening when they got a note from Basil's carriage driver asking them to come back to the house, so that they can view the portrait. For the whole ride Holmes stared at the closed pocket watch in silence.

The household was a bit more accepting of them than it had been when they left. The thrill of a case nearly solved sent shivers down Watson's spine, but Holmes seemed unaffected.

"Right this way." Basil said as he ushered them into the sitting room, where a small painting was laid on the grand piano.

The painting was clearer than the best of photographs, and had the most striking of colors. It held the tall, thin figure of a man. He wore a sort of dark blue suit, a dark brown overcoat that seemed to have been made for a taller person, and, most curious of all, red and white shoes that were quite unusual in shape and style. The most intriguing feature of the painting was that it was extremely life-like; Watson almost expected the figure to jump off of the canvas and run down the hall. The expression on the man's face was one of regret and indecision. Watson noticed that the man in the painting shared a few features with those of Holmes' face. They both had similar chins and noses. They shared the same, sloped forehead that was prominent with those of higher thinking, or so he had read in a medical journal. However, the figure's brown hair was messed about and stuck out it every direction.

"Thank you, Miss Caradeen," Holmes said, "you've outdone yourself as an artist. You've gotten every detail of this man into the picture."

Then Holmes turned on his heel and headed back to the carriage. Watson followed after him, amazed at how Holmes could make such a flat statement and just leave.

"What are we going to do next?" Watson asked. "Holmes?"

"We are going to do nothing," Holmes said as the carriage drove them down the road. "If we pursue this man, we will never see him in person. So we will enjoy our time in the country and wait until he comes to us."

"Do you think he was involved in these two murders?" Watson asked cautiously.

"I believe that he has some part in the events that have played out," Holmes said, "and that he knows more about these events than we do."

* * *

Just call me curious, I would like to see the time differences between me and my readers, so, if you would be so kind, would you review me with the time that you finished reading this chapter. Pretty please, with a cherry on top! PLEASE REVIEW! If I can get at least one more reviewer, I will be SO HAPPY! And when the writer is happy, the readers are happy. You know it's true, so click that review button and make me a happy writer, so you can be a happy reader! :D


	7. Ch 7 And So We Wait

Thank you reviewers and beta readers!

Here it is, the chapter we've all been waiting for: the man with the red and white shoes in the flesh!

Enjoy.

* * *

For the next several days, Watson went about this time spent in the countryside very anxiously. Every time he walked into a room, he scanned it for the man that Diana had seen and painted. He watched Holmes' mood very carefully and noticed how calm he was. Certainly the man with odd attire would show up sooner or later, but how long would they have to wait for him?

Watson was making his way to his bedroom in the inn in Lymington for the evening when another question popped into his head.

When were they going to get this case solved and go back to Baker Street? How long was Holmes going to be obsessed with this case and that pocket watch?

Watson decided that he would confront Holmes and tell him that he was going to go home to London to wait for his return. He'd say that all this inactivity was driving him mad and that he had other appointments to keep elsewhere.

When Watson got to Holmes' room, he was already asleep. He had dozed off while gazing at that pocket watch again. It seemed to be his new custom. Holmes would light his pipe, stare at the old pocket watch in the lamplight, and doze off when the tobacco was all burned, watch still in hand.

Watson chose to change his plan. He would talk to Holmes about the matter in the morning, after breakfast.

Watson shut the door and continued to his own room. Holmes opened his eyes as soon as he was sure that Watson was gone.

Watson was starting to lose faith. It was an unfortunate fact of the situation. The problem was that this mysterious figure wasn't making his appearance as soon as Holmes thought he was.

Perhaps it was time to take the initiative in the situation.

After breakfast the next morning, Watson went up to Holmes' room to tell him that he was going back home. He knocked on the door.

"Holmes, are you awake yet?" Watson asked.

No answer came.

"It's nearly 10, you should get up." Watson said.

Still no answer.

"Holmes?"

Watson opened the door a crack to check if Holmes was just sleeping more deeply than usual. Then he shoved it open the whole way. Holmes was gone, along with his carpetbag and that old pocket watch.

_What is he planning now? _Watson thought.

A tall young man strolled down the streets of Lymington with a goofy grin on his face. No one around him really took the time to notice much about him. That was his gift, going around and doing almost anything without anyone giving him a second glance. Well, with a few exceptions.

Hands in his pockets, he looked around at the buildings as if he were viewing a wonderful reproduction of ancient Rome. He spotted a restaurant that seemed to have a variety of people inside.

_Maybe he went in there_, he thought. _It's a nice place to start as any._

Inside, there were many tables where chatty diners sat. He spotted an empty table near the window where he could see the people inside and out. He sat there and couldn't help but laugh as he watched people go about their day while there were two murders that were still unsolved. It was the perfect proof that humans were dull and unobservant, for the most part. Again, there were a few exceptions to the rule, but only a few.

The young man noticed a curious old man enter. He was kind of short, bent over, and a bit bulky. From the way he was dressed, the young man guessed that the man was a fisherman or a sailor. The man sported a short beard and hair that could have been home for a rat. The young man smiled his ear-to-ear grin as he recognized the man, who was now talking to a nearby waitress, and discreetly made his way toward him.

The old man had made a quick survey of the room as he came in.

_There he is,_ he thought when he spotted the young man. _Now how should I go about approaching him?_

"Anything I can get you, sailor?" The waitress asked him as he sat at the closest empty table.

"No, nothin' fer now," the man said in a gruff voice. "I'm just restin' me feet fer a wee bit."

"Alright, sir. I'll check on you later, then," she said as she left to attend to the other customers.

The old man quickly glanced at the table near the window where the young man had sat, but he was gone now.

_Where did he go?_ The old sailor thought as he tried to spot him again.

"Well, hello, Holmes," the young man said quietly from behind him. "Nice disguise. I'm glad to finally meet you."

Holmes, disguised as the old sailor, raised his eyebrows at him. This strangely dressed man, with his wide grin and the hair that went every which way, had been able to see through his disguise so easily. Even Watson would have thought him a different man, and he was starting to become good at spotting Holmes in his disguises. This man, this long-legged, oddly dressed, goofy-grinned, red-and-white-shoed traveler, was able to spot him from across the room.

"Who are you?" Holmes asked.

"I'm the Doctor," he grinned, "and I think you'll want to ask me a few questions about what I know about the unsolved murders."

* * *

Hello readers from around the globe! I'm so excited to keep an eye on how many hits I'm getting from all over the world. I've gotten readers from the following countries so far: United States, Canada, Iceland, Mexico, Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, United Kingdom, Ireland, France, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Belgium, Netherlands, Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Poland, Lithuania, Hungary, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Austria, Italy, Greece, Israel, Croatia, Slovenia, Slovakia, Russian Federation, China, Hong Kong, Thailand, Republic of Korea, India, Pakistan, Laos, Singapore, the Philippines, Malaysia, Australia, and New Zealand! This is such an exciting, international experience!

Reviewers from: Greece, Israel, Laos, Croatia, Australia, Canada, UK, New Zealand, and loads from the US! I also have two that review that I don't know where their from, but oh well. I might PM you guys to ask what it's like where you are.

I love my reviewers, and it scares me to say that some of them are getting pretty close to figuring out the back stories and to the prize of creating a character to star in my next story.

Keep the reviews coming people and you might just steal the lead. Just a few chapters left to go before the winner is crowned/sent a congratulatory PM/revealed.


	8. Ch 8 Interview with a Traveler

Here we go, one more chapter before the end of the "Who can figure out what really happened?" contest. Major clues in here, if you can decipher them from the text.

Enjoy, readers.

* * *

Back in the inn, Watson sat in his room and started to rethink his situation. He sat at a small desk with a pen in one hand and the other hand scratching his head. In front of his was a sheet of paper with a few words written on the top. "Dear Holmes," it read in Watson's eligible scrawl that physicians were famous for.

_Can I really leave him_, Watson thought, _now that he's starting to get close to his solution?_

Watson placed the pen down, crumpled the sheet of paper, and threw it across the room. After a few seconds of staring at the crumpled paper on the floor, he got up and retrieved it. He smoothed out paper and took up the pen, again.

_It is very unlikely that this suspect was going to stay in Lymington for very long_, Watson thought. _How can Holmes assume that this man would come to us?_

Watson was just about to write his note to Holmes when there was a knock at the door. He got up and opened the door to see Holmes and his mysterious suspect.

"Good morning, Watson," Holmes said. "You will remember this young man from Miss Caradeen's painting. Watson, this is the Doctor. Doctor, this is Doctor John Watson."

"Ah, yes," the Doctor said, "Dr. Watson, I'm a fan of your dramatizations of Holmes' cases."

"A 'fan'?" Watson asked as they both shoved passed him.

"Oh, there I go again," the Doctor said, "using language that hasn't been invented yet, but that's all right because you will probably forget I even said it in a few moments. Either that or just stand there in a stupor like you are right now."

Watson was indeed standing still, having no idea what the Doctor meant.

"So, Dr....," Watson said looking for the Doctor to fill in the blank.

"Yep, that's me," the Doctor said simply. "I think Holmes wanted to ask some questions."

"Yes," Holmes said, "Now, Watson, I would advise you not to take any notes, but you seem to have already taken liberty." He glanced at the paper that Watson had left.

"Oh, that, it's nothing important now," Watson said quickly as he snatched the paper so he could dispose of it later. "Would you rather I leave?"

"No, you can stay if you wish," Holmes said. "Now, Doctor, what were you doing on Mr. Caradeen's estate a week ago?"

"Well, you see," the Doctor chuckled. "That's very hard to explain."

"You had better find a way to explain," Holmes insisted, "because right now you are the first on the inspector's list of subjects."

"Yeah, I know," the Doctor said, pacing about and scratching his head, "but if were in my position you might find yourself in the same difficulty as me."

"If you would tell me what you know, I may do what I can to protect you from…"

"I don't need any protection, I'm just concerned that you may not be able to comprehend…"

"I am able to comprehend far more than you might think."

"No offence, but I doubt it."

"Just give me the facts, Doctor!"

The Doctor assessed Holmes for a few moments, and Holmes did the same with the Doctor. They stared at each other like a pair of master chess players trying to predict the other's plan of action. The Doctor finally sighed and sat down on Watson's bed.

"Alright," the Doctor began. "First off, I had no idea what was going to happen, I usually don't, and I'm sure you know by the wear on my shoes and the state of my hair that I'm an extensive traveler." He quickly exposed the worn heel of his odd-looking shoe to prove his point. He started to speak more and more quickly as he began to pace about the room. "Well, I decided to visit London again, and I arrived the morning before this whole business began. Well, I just happened to notice these two beings in the street. A Guardian and a Neurovore, no less. And, of course, I thought that it was a bit out of place and suspicious, so I decided to keep an eye on them, follow them, to see what they were up to. Well, I followed them to the house. I saw them go one way and decided to go in the other way. Luckily, someone left the sunroom door open, so I went in through there. I took the liberty of locking the door behind me, well then I saw the owner of the house, he had a pocket watch, and I had my suspicions. So, I followed him, and, well, you know what happened next. But I swear, I did nothing, I know I should have, but I didn't, alright, I'm sorry I didn't. I really didn't want to just leave him there, but there was nothing I could do, and I couldn't just let the killer get away with it, so I followed him out the window. And, well, I just about had them when, and the fog was so thick…"

"Fog?" Holmes interjected.

"Yes, fog," the Doctor said, "Anyway, I just about had them when they disappeared, teleported, flew off, or whatever. Just poof, they're gone, but I knew that they would still be around because I seemed to have interrupted what was going on. They didn't quite get what they wanted from it. I kept an eye on the other bloke, the accomplice I saw before, and he seems to have established himself in the household, and he made a deep connection with this family. Whatever they're after, it has something to do with the family, I think, or something that they own, and if I can get you're help you can figure out what that thing is and, hopefully, keep another tragedy from striking. Meanwhile, I can figure out what these two are doing in Victorian London and why this family is so important." He started to tug at his left ear. "That is, unless you still think I'm somehow responsible for the deaths. In which case, I'd have to make a quick and sudden exit."

With that, he gave his ear-to-ear grin and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was an almost comical sight in comparison to his serious whirlwind of information that left Watson in a state of shock. Even if Watson had been taking notes, he wouldn't have gotten more than the fact that there was fog outside rather than rain, as Holmes had come up with when they first interviewed Basil.

"I believe you, Doctor," Holmes declared.

"You do?" the Doctor and Watson asked simultaneously, with surprised expressions on their faces.

"Why, yes," Holmes said. "Doctor, you don't seem at all like someone who would kill innocents, you don't show any signs of deception, and, though you may be the number one suspect, there is no evidence to prove you guilty. All that beside, you seem to have dealt with situations like this before, so I trust you. How do you suggest we proceed, Doctor?"

* * *

I know it's kinda short, but it's loaded with information. Got the clues? Figured it out yet? Review, tell me what you think.

One chapter left of clues then you should be able to have figured it out, if you've been paying attention. Send a detailed review on your theories and I'll see who's gotten closest. One detail, though, no one will be able to get a score on because I actually got the idea from one of the reviewers. You'll find out what it is in the Epilogue, that is, after the final 11th Chapter.

I'm so happy! I'm passed the 500-hits mark! Spread the word! Review! (I feel so popular!)


	9. Ch 9 The Guardian or Dominion

Here it is, the final chapter of the contest, one last chance to send in your theories on the events

Thank you to my readers, reviewers, and Beta-readers!

And of course, just to restate the obvious, (place disclaimer here)

* * *

The Doctor gave Holmes his ear-to-ear grin.

"Brilliant," the Doctor said, "I think what we should do is talk with this other one, the Guardian, the Dominion. I think he might just be, what you might call, a confederate."

"Agreed," Holmes said as he made his way to the door.

"Holmes," Watson said, standing up to get in his way. "How can you trust this stranger so completely? How can you be so sure that he's not sending us on a wild goose chase?"

"You trust me?" Holmes whispered.

"Yes." Watson said, glancing towards the Doctor as he exited the room.

"Then trust that I know what I'm doing," Holmes said with an earnest smirk, "and take that 12 o'clock train back to London. But please, leave your revolver with me, just in case."

"If you say so, Holmes," Watson sighed.

A few moments later, Holmes and the Doctor were roaming the streets, keeping an eye out for the one that the Doctor had deemed "the Guardian" or "one of the Dominion". Whatever that meant.

The Doctor looked behind him. Just a few blocks behind, Holmes was in costume, pretending to be discreetly following him.

_This is so great_, the Doctor thought. _I'm working with THE Sherlock Holmes. This is almost as cool as when Rose and I were chasing ghosts with Charles Dickens._ He frowned at the thought of how they had to part with each other, twice. _Maybe it's better to go alone. Less lives can be ruined that way._ He thought of Donna and felt a pang of remorse.

He couldn't dwell on it. Exiting one of the shops just ahead was the man he was looking for.

The young man looked around as he stepped out of the bookshop. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Then he spotted him, the man who had caused him so much trouble. _What does he want with me?_ he thought. _Whatever it is, I don't want to just sit and find out._

The Doctor saw him take off. _Why do they always have to run?_ he thought as he ran after him.

Holmes ran after the Doctor as best he could in his disguise. _He must have spotted our suspect_, he thought.

After a few moments, Holmes managed to catch up with the Doctor. The Doctor seemed to have caught the suspect and had him pinned against an alley wall, almost grinding the man's face against it.

"What are you doing here on Earth?" Holmes heard the Doctor ask. "What do you want with the girl? Why did you help that guy kill those innocent people?"

"I told you, as soon as you let me go, I'll tell you." The pinned man said in a familiar voice. "I had nothing to do with the death of Mrs. Walsh, just let me go. You're making a big mistake."

"Doctor," Holmes said, taking off his disguise, "let me see his face. I think I know him."

The Doctor looked at Holmes and, with an unsure expression, turned the pinned man around. It was Basil.

"Holmes!" Basil gasped. He tried to run off, but found his back pinned to the wall again. "It's not what you think it is."

"I suggest you tell us what it is, then," Holmes said.

Basil looked desperately at them both, and then shrugged their restricting hands off of him. He turned a gaze on the Doctor.

"Out loud, so Holmes can hear," the Doctor said, "and I would appreciate it if you would take off your jacket."

Basil's gaze turned to a glare, but he still shrugged off his jacket and handed it to the Doctor. Behind Basil, Holmes glimpsed a flash of tawny feathers. No, not behind him, they were on him. Attached to Basil's back was a pair of tawny-colored wings with black tips and white speckles.

"All the way please," the Doctor said.

Basil's glared turned almost to a look of disgust, and then he fully extended his beautiful wings to a span of at least 15 feet. Holmes stared in awe and skepticism.

"Impossible," Holmes muttered.

"Not impossible, Holmes," Basil said in a voice that rang like a church bell, "just improbable."

Basil folded his wings neatly behind his back again. He gave the Doctor a glance and put his jacket back on.

"My full name is Seraphaeme Venticleuse Basilica," Basil said in his normal human voice, "I'm a refugee of the Time War. Near its climax, I was sent into the Time Vortex, by the Dominion, to see if the Time Lords needed any assistance, but there was an explosion that sent me hurtling through time and space until I landed in Cardiff, just a few years ago."

"Yeah, sorry," the Doctor said. "That was me. The war is over now, or at least it should be. Both sides lost, there was a lot of… collateral damage." Holmes noticed a solemn look on the Doctor's face.

"So, you're a…" Basil said. The Doctor nodded.

"The last," the Doctor said. Quickly he regained himself. "But that doesn't explain what you and the Neurovore were doing together, the lives you helped him take."

"Believe me, I had no idea that he was going to kill them," Basil said. "I just wanted her to realize how special she is."

"Who?" Holmes asked.

"Miss Diana," Basil turned to the Doctor. "As soon as I laid eyes on her, I saw her potential, and, well, I fell in love with her. I saw who she really was, and I couldn't let her hide any longer, but I can't _make_ her change, I can only nudge her in the right direction."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you, Time Lord?" Basil asked. "Diana isn't just a mere human, she's a dormant star. She has so much more potential, she's seen so much more." Basil looked toward Holmes. "You've seen her, Holmes. She bears the characteristics of one born elsewhere, doesn't she? Mr. James Caradeen took her in the same day he found the watch."

"What watch?" the Doctor asked, a spark of curiosity and hope lighting his eyes.

"This one," Holmes said as he took Mr. Caradeen's old pocket watch out of his pocket.

The Doctor stared at it for a few moments.

"No," he said, "it can't be."

"Yes, Doctor," Basil said, "that is what you think it is, and if we don't work fast, there will be another unneeded death in my household."

* * *

So now you know, or at least you should know, I'm sure the die-hard fans of Doctor Who saw it coming a mile away, but you weren't sure, were you?

Well, contest ends here, cast your votes, or ideas, or whatever they are. Review and you might be the lucky one to create my star. Last chance! You should be able to figure the rest out from here, I think, ... maybe not....

Good luck, the winner will be announced shortly.

Oh for those Ten fans out there, I just ordered a pair of red converse! Should have them in a few days.


	10. Ch 10 Confronting the Wolf

And the winner is...

Congratulations, KylaRyan, you'll be getting a PM from me soon to talk about your prize.

Readers, enjoy the last couple of chapters of The Man with the Red and White Shoes.

The chapter title will make more sense later.

* * *

"Oh, I'm so thick! She's a…" the Doctor said.

"A Time Lord," said Basil, "or Time Lady, or whatever you call a female of your species."

"What? The Doctor isn't human?" Holmes asked.

"No, I'm not," said the Doctor as he took out a stethoscope. "Check my heartbeat, there should be two hearts there."

Holmes eyed the Doctor warily, and then took the stethoscope and listened to the Doctor's chest, first the left side: THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP. Then the right side: THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP.

Holmes looked at the Doctor in amazement and astonishment. Two hearts! Impossible!

"Satisfied?" the Doctor asked. He turned back to Basil as he took the stethoscope from Holmes. "The girl, she's in danger? Is he planning to…?"

"I'm afraid so," Basil said. "We have no time to lose, Doctor."

Basil suddenly started to stare at the opposite wall. First the Doctor followed his gaze, then he looked back to Basil.

"What is it?" asked the Doctor.

"It's Hidego," Basil said, "he's planning." His gaze came back to the Doctor's face with an expression of horror. "We have to get back to the house, now. There should be a thick patch of fog heading in. I can fly us…"

"We don't have enough time to wait for the weather," the Doctor said. "We'll take my TARDIS. It's just over there."

On the White estate, all seemed calm and peaceful. Then came a very unique sound; a sort of grinding sound mixed with a whining screech. Just as the sound began to carry towards the house, a blue box started to appear. First it looked like it could have been just a ghostly image, a mirage, then it began to become more solid.

As soon as the blue box was fully materialized, the sound faded into silence and the Doctor stepped out onto the grass.

"Come on, Holmes," the Doctor called, "there's a life at stake! Allons-y!"

The Doctor took off in a full-on run towards the house. Holmes, followed closely by Basil, stepped out and gazed at his surroundings in wonder.

"Not only is that blue box bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," Holmes said, "but it also transports people at impossible speeds?"

"That's a TARDIS for you," replied Basil as he dashed off after the Doctor.

Holmes followed soon after.

Diana sat on her bed in her dressing gown with her knees to her chest and stared at the painting of the man with the red and white shoes. Somehow she felt that she knew him from somewhere in the distant past, from some other life. Who was he, and what did he have to do with her and her family?

Diana carefully examined the man's features. She had no idea why; she already had his face memorized.

Just then, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's Basil, can I come in?" she heard him ask.

"Just a minute," Diana said as she covered the portrait, "come in."

Basil came in with a look of desperation on his face. He ran up to her and held her close to him.

"I love you so much," Basil whispered in her ear, then he held her at arm's length. "There's something you need to know."

Holmes and the Doctor kept watch in the hallway.

"I'm afraid I'm still quite puzzled," Holmes said. "What exactly is a 'neurovore', and what does all this have to do with that pocket watch?"

"Well, you see," the Doctor said, "there are some times when a Time Lord, that's what I am, has to find a place to hide. Of course, if you are hiding from someone, or something, that can, say, read minds, it won't do any good. To avoid that problem, we developed a device called a Chameleon Arch; it changes the Time Lord physiology into that of another species, usually human. The mind of the Time Lord is then stored away into a pocket watch and the mind of the changed body is either wiped completely of all memory or given a background story. I'm not sure what it was in Diana's case."

"I just wanted him to try to steal the watch," Basil said, pacing about the room as Diana listened on the bed. "I didn't know he was after a meal until I came to visit you the next morning. As soon as I saw him again, I told him that the deal was off, but he didn't listen. He still wanted you. That's when I looked to Watson for help, and I got Holmes' assistance as well. I lost track of him, so I made arrangements for you and Mrs. Walsh to stay with me. I thought that he changed his mind. That is, until he tried again. Mrs. Walsh got in his way this time and the Doctor ran him off before he could get to you."

"Why does he want me?" Diana asked.

"But what is this 'neurovore'?" Holmes asked.

"A Neurovore is a predator," said the Doctor, "it feeds on neuro-electric energy. They send out telepathic waves that show their victims their individual fears and soak up the respondent neural energy. It's an effective system."

"Making a murder look like a nervous attack," Holmes said.

"Exactly," the Doctor said, "and if this Neurovore were to soak up the neural energy of a Time Lord that turned human, he'd have enough energy to last him two lifetimes."

"What can I do to stop it?" Diana asked, frightened.

"You have to open up the pocket watch and become what you were," Basil said.

"But why?" Diana asked.

The Doctor stared down the hallway.

"Holmes, get inside," he said as he pushed Holmes through Diana's bedroom door. "No more killing, not today, and we definitely can't risk losing you." He soniced the door shut.

Basil and Diana stared at Holmes as he tried first to pry and then to kick open the door.

"What's going on?" Diana asked.

"He's trying to buy us some time." Basil said. "He's here."

The Doctor glared at the figure at the end of the hall.

"Time Lord," it said, "how nice to see you again. This time you won't drive me away."

The figure was about average height and build. His black hair was kind of short and slicked back with hair gel. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, a black leather jacket, a white T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a pair of dressy black shoes.

"How do you get around in that outfit without getting noticed?" the figure asked.

"Perception filter," the Doctor said, showing him the TARDIS key.

"Me, too," the figure said, taking a silver cross pendant from underneath his shirt. He started to walk slowly towards the Doctor. "You know, I haven't tried a fully matured Time Lord before."

"We have to help him," Holmes said, "That thing is going to kill him."

"The Doctor has Hidego under control, for now," Basil said, "but just to be sure, you should give Diana that pocket watch."

"Now, I wouldn't say that I'm mature," the Doctor said nervously. "Yeah, I'm an adult, but mature? That's debatable. I really should advise you to not try it. From what I hear, Time Lord is a bit rich for Neurovore brain patterns."

"So says the deer," Hidego said as he came to a halt a few feet from him, "as it stares into the jaws of the wolf."

* * *

Creepy! What comes next? I don't know. I'm talking to myself again aren't I? Dangit! I need to stop doing that!

Oh well, next chapter coming soon.

Oh, one more thing! Another story to check out: Bodyguard to a star by Genuka (crossover of Star Trek:The Next Generation and Star Trek:The Original Series)


	11. Ch 11 It Ends Here

So now you've met our REAL bad guy, now read the conclusion to "The Man With the Red and White Shoes"

Enjoy, don't forget to keep reviewing.

* * *

Diana stared at the pocket watch, hesitant to open it.

"What happens when I change?" she asked.

"You'll be able to see things that no one else could possibly imagine," Basil said. "You will know so much more. You will be able to live much longer than anyone else."

"Will I look the same?" Diana asked.

"Yes,"

"Will you still love me?"

"Of course I will."

"Will I still love you?"

"I don't know." Basil tried his best to keep his personal worries from changing his tone. "You will be a totally different person when you change. You will be who you were when you first changed to being who you are now."

"I don't want to do this." Diana tried to give the watch back. "I like who I am, I don't want to change, especially if I will forget…"

"But you won't forget." Basil closed Diana's fingers around the watch.

"How do you know?" Diana's frightened eyes began to well up with tears.

"Just trust me. Just have faith that I know and open it."

In the hallway, Hidego began to emit a bright light that made the Doctor look away for a second. When he looked again, Hidego was gone and Rose had taken his place. The light remained and cast her silhouette on him.

Rose opened her eyes. They glowed with the same intensity as the light behind her.

This wasn't Rose; this was the Bad Wolf entity.

The Doctor knew what came next, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.

The light behind the Bad Wolf began to dim and it winced.

"Doctor," it said painfully, "What did you do to me?"

The Bad Wolf crumpled to the ground, clenching its head. Quickly its features began to morph to those of human companions and alien enemies, all at random, all at the same time.

"Help me!" it screeched in a voice that seemed to be a mix of Rose, Martha, Gelf, Dalek, and Hidego. "It hurts! IT BURNS!" It began to catch fire and scream in agony.

"When I saw you for the first time in this house, I gave you a warning," the Doctor said in a cold, unfeeling tone. "Just now, I warned you not to try to feed on me. You should have listened."

Then the creature became engulfed in flame, and it disappeared in a massive fireball. The fire died almost instantly, leaving no trace that Hidego had been there, except for a red-hot silver crucifix pendant where he had once stood.

The Doctor took a strip of cloth from his coat pocket, picked up the pendant with it, carefully folded the cloth around it, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Suddenly, Holmes burst through the bedroom door, with Watson's revolver in his hand.

"Doctor, what was that screaming?" Holmes asked as he looked up and down the hallway. "What happened?"

"I gave Hidego a warning," the Doctor said coldly. "He didn't listen. He's gone now."

Holmes searched the Doctor's eyes for some sort of explanation, but he'd turned his gaze to the window, where he could watch the fog roll in.

"I'm sure Miss Diana would like to speak with you," Holmes said with a quick grin.

When that Doctor walked into Diana's bedroom, the first thing he noticed was an open pocket watch on the bed. Diana had Basil's jacket in her arms and was admiring his wings.

Then Diana noticed the Doctor by the door. She gave Basil his jacket back, calmly walked over to the Doctor, and slapped him in the face.

"Oww!" the Doctor exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. "What was that for?"

Diana said nothing, trying to hold back tears. She clung to the Doctor's chest and wept.

"It's all gone," she sobbed, "our home, our families, our friends, all gone. It's all over."

The Doctor looked at Basil, silently asking what he should do. Basil walked over and took her into his arms.

"That's where you're wrong," Basil said. "This is where it all begins. You are alive, and that's what matters now. Gallifrey lives on in you, and the Doctor. You can't change what happened, it's already an established event, but you can live on and prevent similar things from happening." Basil and the Doctor exchanged knowing looks. He was speaking to the Doctor as well as to Diana. "That's the job of a Time Lord now, to keep people from making a mess of the timeline, to prevent the preventable disasters, and to keep going until you can find a way to rebuild and restore what was once lost."

Diana looked up at Basil and followed his gaze to the Doctor. The Doctor's face was streaked with a single tear. He quickly wiped it away and regained his composure.

"Couldn't have put it better myself," the Doctor said. "Now I believe we have a great detective that we have to get home. Allons-y!"

In London, near the busy Baker Street, the TARDIS materialized in a dead-end alley. Holmes stepped out and happily breathed in the thick air. The Doctor soon came out after him.

"Home, sweet home, eh, Holmes?" the Doctor said with that big grin. "And there's 221b Baker Street, and Watson should be here any minute, so go on."

"Thank you," Holmes said, then he walked to the front door of 221b and leaned casually by the door.

In only a few moments a cab came and stopped at the door. When Watson got out and saw Holmes by the door, he had a comical look of shock. The Doctor smiled as he overheard their conversation, then walked back into the TARDIS.

Holmes glanced in the Doctor's direction just in time to watch the TARDIS disappear. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out the old beat-up pocket watch, his memento of the adventure.

* * *

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Do you want to read more? Review!

I believe an epilogue is in order. if you believe so too, review "Encore" at least, and if I get enough people crying encore, I'll publish the epilogue. I'm trying to get it written now, but I need to know if my readers want more before i can justify posting it.

In the meantime, feel free to read my second story, Hotel Mismanagement, also starring the Doctor, only you don't have to wait as long for his appearance.

For now, Happy Reading.


	12. Epliogue

Sorry it took me so long, I've been a bit busy.

* * *

The Doctor casually walked up the ramp to the TARDIS console, where Basil and Diana telepathically carried on a private conversation. Unsure in the silence, the Doctor started to dial in the coordinates to Cardiff. It was about time to refuel anyway, and that was the most likely starting point for Diana and Basil.

"Doctor," Diana said as she silently came up to him, "I really am sorry for slapping you. I hope you're not mad at me?" Her voice had the tone of a child addressing her parent after getting in trouble.

"No, of course not," the Doctor said. "It only hurt for a second."

Diana had an expression of skepticism as she glanced at the pinkish handprint she had left on his cheek.

"So why did you slap me?" the Doctor continued.

"I, err..." Diana looked to Basil for help, but he was busy pretending to be examining the engines of the TARDIS curiously. "It's a bit complicated."

"That's alright, maybe later," the Doctor said as he started the TARDIS engines.

The engines whined and groaned as it made its journey to Cardiff. The people inside were jostled about. Diana clung to the car seat, but her mind was elsewhere, remembering her last memories as a Time Lord. She played them over and over in her mind. She couldn't find any real reason why she had to hide it from the Doctor, and it made her feel almost guilty to not explain her behavior to him.

A sudden jolt of the TARDIS brought her mind back to the present. Everything stopped in one instant, and she gained her balance again.

"Sorry about that,' the Doctor said, "a bit bumpier than I planned, but we should be at the right spot." Quickly he consulted the computer screen. "Yep, Cardiff, 2009. Nice place for a pit stop. Where should I drop you two off?"

"We need to go back to get Diana's TARDIS," Basil said in his angelic voice, his speckled wings folding out in full glory.

"It should still be here in Cardiff, what do you mean go back?" Diana asked.

"I was thrown into the same moment you were found by James Caradeen," Basil mused. "Once I established where you and he lived, I found and moved your TARDIS closer. I thought that you might need it when you regained your former consciousness, and knew what you were the moment I laid eyes on you. It was in your best interests to discover your full potential, but I couldn't directly influence your decision unless there came a situation that threatened your life without my intervention."

"It's part of the Dominion code," the Doctor elaborated. "Noninterference unless a life is at stake. There have been a few rule-breakers, hence the countless stories about Angels."

"Yes," Basil said, "I didn't want to add fuel to an already roaring fire of controversy, so for years I tried to find a way to, for a lack of better words, bend the rules. First I watched from afar, but then, when I was sure that my non-aging face wouldn't give me away, I started to get closer to the family, to you."

"And that's when you…" Diana asked.

Basil nodded.

"I found Hidego in a pub as I was looking for someone who would help me with my plan," Basil continued. "He seemed to be willing enough, so I hired him. I should have taken more interest in his eagerness to do the deed for no money."

"I hate to interrupt story time," said the Doctor, "but we're fueled up now, so we can get going."

Along the road, near the hidden patch of flowering meadow in the woods, there stood an odd-looking tree. Very few ever took notice of it. It was just an old tree, after all. It was just a part of the landscape. One thing peculiar about the tree, that no one ever took the time to notice, was an etching in bark. In truth it wasn't an etching as much as it was an indention, for the surface had never been broken.

Slowly the TARDIS began to materialize in the meadow across the road. First the Doctor emerged from within, then Diana, followed closely by Basil.

"It's the old tree!" Diana exclaimed as she quickly ran over to the other side. "I can remember climbing it every moment I had the chance."

"Just goes to show the power of the subconscious mind," the Doctor mused as he and Basil slowly followed her.

"So, this is…?" Diana asked.

"Yes," Basil said, "that is your TARDIS."

Diana searched her pockets, instinctively, for the key, but found nothing.

"Looking for this?" the Doctor asked as he pulled Hidego's crucifix from his pocket and unwrapping the strip of cloth.

"How did you…?"

"I've seen very few perception filters with this amount of power other than a TARDIS key."

Diana took the crucifix and placed it in the indention in the bark; a perfect fit. A soft light erupted from inside the trunk of the tree. A door slowly swung open from the trunk, like a moment from _Alice and Wonderland_, and Diana eagerly ran inside.

"It's just as I remember!" Diana exclaimed.

Inside, it was decorated like a sacred ruin in the depths of a forgotten forest. The console looked like a tribute to the stone in which Excalibur had been placed before the time of King Arthur.

Diana stood at the centerpiece for a reverent moment, and then turned to the Doctor with the expression of a sinner waiting for her turn in the confession booth.

"I was only eight when you went off on the mission to prevent the Daleks' existence," she said, her eyes focused on the hem of her dress. "I was going through the initiation ceremony, staring into the Eye of Harmony. I saw…" She stopped a moment as she felt her voice about to break. "I saw what was to come. I saw the devastation of the Last Great Time War." She finally looked up to the Doctor. Her eyes were red with tears. "I looked to the elders. They had seen nothing of it, for if they had, they would have felt the same despair I was feeling. They would have seen Gallifrey burn and the ripples in space/time that caused even more destruction." Diana looked back down at the hem of her dress. "I could see nothing that could change the outcome, so I stole this TARDIS and ran."

Diana sat down on the synthetic grass and clutched her knees to her chest. The Doctor went to her and sat beside her.

"Hey," the Doctor said, trying to look her straight in the eye. "I really am sorry. I can't say I'd change it if I could, because I'm not quite sure if it's true or not."

Diana looked into the Doctor's eyes. He was so calm in the face of danger, but at this moment, he was racked with grief and remorse.

However much she wanted to deny it, Basil was right; what happened has happened, and all they could do now was to keep on going from there.

"So what are you going to do now?" the Doctor asked.

"I'm going to do what I can do," Diana said. "I'm going to try to find a way to restore Gallifrey." She looked at some indeterminate point in front of her. "I'm going to find what's left of our home and try to rebuild. If there's nothing left, then I'll just keep going and try to find a place to start over."

The Doctor felt for a moment that it was an impossible task she was taking upon herself, but he also couldn't find the nerve to discourage her hope.

"Sounds like a plan," he said simply.

"What about you?" Diana asked. "Where are you off to now?"

"Not a clue," the Doctor said as he got up. "Should be fun."

The Doctor helped Diana up and made his way to his next adventure.

* * *

One more thing, I'm co-authoring a story that's total crossover. It's going to be called "7-cross of DOOM" Just keep your eyes out, not sure when we'll get done with it. (discontinued until further notice)

As always  
Happy reading ;)


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